


Love when you love me, hate me

by Ravenna_5014



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (I'm not sure where this will take me), Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Building backgrounds, Character Study, Confused Jaskier (who wouldn't be), Fate & Destiny, Getting to Know Each Other, How Do I Tag, Jaskier doesn't even meet Geralt here, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22271650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenna_5014/pseuds/Ravenna_5014
Summary: Jaskier first heard of witchers when he was eight.He wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 114





	Love when you love me, hate me

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Inspiration? The Witcher show by Netflix. Title from Ava Max’s Torn because yes, I am a sucker for cheesy pop songs.
> 
> I allowed my imagination to run wild. For those who don’t know, Julian is Jaskier’s true name. He’s young here and I treat Jaskier as a stage name (which it probably is anyway).
> 
> With this out of the way, there’s only one thing more: enjoy!

Jaskier first heard of witchers when he was eight. 

He wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation, it just happened that he found himself, according to Mother, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was well after his bedtime but he was woken from sleep by terrible thirst and he slipped out of his room to find some water. On the way to the kitchens he passed the living room, to his surprise occupied by Mother and Anton, his cousin. Why they had to be related, Julian had no idea. Anton was more of a menace than cousin and Julian disliked the way he changed from a well-behaved ‘young man’ to a bully in a matter of seconds. If there was no adult within earshot, of course.

The only good thing about Anton were stories he would sometimes tell about his adventures in faraway kingdoms. And this is why Julian stopped just before the doorstep, trying to hear more than random phrases like ‘massacre in Bladiken’, ‘we _needed_ help’ or ‘witcher.’ At the last word he let a gasp, mouth opening in surprise. _Everyone_ heard about witchers and Martin said they’re fearless warriors able to wield swords like nobody else. The noise gave him away and seconds later he was looking into Anton’s eyes, dark and murky like a pitch. He was then dragged into the room by a collar of his shirt with an annoyed grunt.

“Look who got caught lurking,” Anton gave him a shove.

“I just wanted to get some water, I swear!” Julian hastily assured.

“Julian…,” Mother folded her hands in her lap, making no move to stand up and berate him further. Better make use of the momentarily silence, then.

“What happened in Bladiken?”

The question was met with a snort.

“Blaviken, you silly boy. And haven’t you already heard? That was years ago,” Anton tried to go for a light tone, but it clashed terribly with the words. “A massacre. Bloodshed. A witcher gone rouge…”

“Anton.”

Mother’s voice was sharp and cut his cousin off like a knife. Anton rolled his eyes and dropped on the sofa, stretching his long legs. “He should hear about it.”

Julian looked at his Mother with wide eyes, hands gripping her sleeve in silent plea.

“No, Julian. Those are not things a boy your age should be concerned about,” she said in her best no-nonsense voice and tried to shake him off. Anton shot him a wicked smile, the one that didn’t reach his eyes and send shivers down Julian’s spine.

“But he is a big boy! Look, what if he does _,_ Heaven forbid, encounter one at the market? You never know, my dear auntie. And that one is all but trouble,” his cousin reached out to ruffle his hair and Julian swatted his hand away with an indigent huff.

Mother stayed silent, watching him with concerned frown. She was pretty, with honey-coloured hair, gently curling around her shoulders, and eyes of just the right shade of brown, and Julian thought that the worried look doesn’t suit her. So he bit his lip, deciding to choke back the words that threatened to spill out, about monsters and fearless heroes saving princesses in epic battles, and about dragons - because dragons were awesome – as he waited for the final verdict.

“Very well,” Mother said, her tone filled in one quarter with discontent and three quarters with exasperation. She stood up, placing a quick kiss on his forehead and wagged her finger at Anton. “Spare him the details, will you?”

“Of course, ma’am,” he replied with cheerfulness Julian found strange, because apparently the topic of witchers was the one from grim tales, told in hushed whispers. He obediently sat down as Mother exited the room and looked up at Anton expectantly, waiting for the story to begin.

And so he heard the tale about men trained from their first days to slain beasts without mercy, carrying two swords – a silver blade for monsters and steel for humans. Men, who were purged of all emotions in exchange for mutations that gave them unnatural strength, enhanced endurance and night vision; men able to hear your slightest move and pick up the lightest scent. The rituals made them more animal than human, changing their body, twisting it inside, taking the bits of humanity away, piece after piece.

“They give it up so they can fight monsters, but at what price? They become monsters themselves,” Anton said and for once it was neither mocking nor rude.

Julian was sitting with his back pressed tightly against the cushions, arms curled around his legs as words washed over him like a spell, entrancing and at the same terrifying. He had to clear his throat before he can speak but his voice didn’t waver.

“Alright. What about Blaviken, then?”

“No one knows what really happened in Blaviken. Or _why_ did it happen at all. Those who know, keep their mouths shut. Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, attacked and killed people without cause. Some say it was a bandit band, but who can say? It wasn’t a pretty fight, that’s for sure.”

“And the witcher?”

“Exiled from a town,” Anton looked at him for a few seconds, what under the weight of that serious stare felt like eternity. “Witchers are cursed. The death follows them. In the future give them a wide berth, alright?”

Julian nodded absentmindedly as pondered that. The story was a little scary, yes, and if people got killed without any reason, then the witcher would classify as a villain. But did it really happen? If gossipers from Blaviken are like his mother and the ladies that come to visit her, then it’s not certain. After all, Mother often mixed things up and boasted it was him who got the praise from the tutor and not Adam, his friend and son of that mistress that has a terrible taste in clothes. Or so his Mother said on numerous occasions, he had always thought it looked pretty.

He curled on the couch, staring ahead with unseeing eyes as he tried to imagine the battle that gave the White Wolf yet another moniker. ‘Butcher of Blaviken. Not a nice name to go by,’ Julian decided, trying to fight the tiredness, but giving in after a few seconds. He allowed the sleep to claim him, closing his eyes with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was a restless night, of dreams filled with clashing swords and monsters that weren’t monsters at all.


End file.
